Gin, Dresses and Mobsters
by theonewithoutaclue
Summary: 1920′s Gangster AU. Robin Locksley is the leader of a notorious New York gang, ruthless and charming in equal measures. But when a mystery woman hires his services for a hefty reward, the boys of The Lion's Den may come to realise they've bitten off more than they can chew.
1. Chapter 1

The low canopy of trees cast shadows across the path, leaves swaying back and forth in the brisk winds of winter as Robin leaned against the side of his building. The Sherwood was hidden in plain sight. So easy to walk straight into that nobody ever did. Even so, Robin had his office on the top floor; the main reason being to keep every man and his dog who worked in admin from knocking on his door every five minutes, rather than the thought of a rival stumbling in.

His right hand rested on his cane, where an elegantly carved silver lions head sat at the top of the black varnished wood. The forward tilt of his head meant his eyes were cast in darkness from the brim of his fedora and the rain dripped in rivulets down his exposed neck.

"You're late." Even though Robin couldn't see the figure behind him, he could sense the tension crackling. If Robin had learnt anything from being in this game so far, it's that tone of voice is everything. He wasn't the strongest physically, but that didn't matter when you could get a man to break every bone in his own arm.

"Locksley, listen to me," and this fella's tone left much to be desired. The quiver in his voice irked Robin, made him swivel on his heel to face the scrawny man. Robin wasn't exactly tall, but he loomed over Isaac with a stare cold enough to freeze over the East River. "I-I can get you your money,"

"That's funny," drawled Robin, humourless smile playing on his lips, "If i recall correctly, that's what you said to me last week. And the week before that." He stepped into the alley towards Isaac with every word, backing him further and further away from the lamp light of the main street.

"Please, Locksley, I-I have a kid!" He was shaking now, cowering like a dog to his owner.

"I don't believe you."

So quick that Isaac couldn't register the movement, Robin had him pinned up against the wall with one arm, cane pressed to his neck. "Now you listen to me. Okay?" Robin's voice was low, hissed, and he waited for Isaac to nod before carrying on. "I'm not going to kill you for two reasons. Number one, I have plenty of people to do it for me." He glanced up at the building behind him to emphasise his point. "Two, I want that money. And you're going to get it for me. Understood?" Isaac gave another frantic few nods of his head before Robin roughly shoved him back into the wall then let him go. The man bolted, holding onto his hat as he ran back to wherever he crawled from.

Robin took a breath, brushing off his sleeves and straightening his tie before he strolled back into The Sherwood.

The ground floor of his building was a bar, steady business in the day, but crammed from wall to wall at night with the scum of the earth. Street rats, mobsters, the filth that had outstayed their welcome at every other place in the city. He weaved his way through the smoky room, past card games and hushed conversations swallowed by the louder ruckus of the large room, to where Will Scarlett was leaning on the bar with a crystal tumbler of whiskey.

"Sorted it then?" asked Will, swirling the amber liquid round his glass before taking a sip.

"I won't be waiting much longer, let's just say that."

Will gave him a long look, his lips curving into a boyish smirk.

"What?" Snapped Robin, not bothering to look back across at him. The other man was unscathed by the barb, taking another pull on his drink before he spoke.

"You've got a visitor. A _lady_ ," that got Robin's attention. "John sent her upstairs."

"Well what the bloody hell did he do that for?" Whispered Robin, eyes scanning for the man in question but knowing John he was already too drunk to stand. A dull pounding was starting in the back of Robin's head, the patter of rain before a storm. He swept from the bar and slipped behind the door leading to The Lion's Den. Will had given the building that nickname once and it stuck, spreading between his men and his enemies like wild fire. Like a warning.

He shucked his trench coat from his shoulders and hung it on the coat-stand in the hall. The stairs leading to the upper floors were old and narrow, so Robin made sure every new member of his gang knew where to step to avoid the creaking. He took that route now, silently making his way four floors up to his office at the end of the corridor.

His fingers brushed along the wall, snagging on the loose paper as he slowly approached the door, senses on high alert, listening for any noise inside. Nothing. But Robin knew better than to trust a silence. In this business, anyone could shoot you in the back. Cool brass touched his palm as he twisted the doorknob and the low yellow lamplight flooded the landing.

A woman sat, back to the door, on one of the two seats facing Robin's desk. Her delicate arm hung over the side of the chair, a cigarette in a holder clasped loosely in her gloved fingers. She brought the jade tube to her lips and took a drag, smoke billowing around her dark hair in a swirling plume as she let it out.

"Can I help you?"

The woman jolted a little, her cool composure fizzling slightly then reassembling in a second as she stood from the chair. Her red dress hung from her body, clinging in a way that was classy rather than scandalous. It was her lips that were the scandal – coloured a shade darker than her dress, pursed as she lazily looked him over, her eyes dark like fresh brewed coffee, and a glint that screamed trouble.

"I don't know, can you?" Good god, that voice. Robin found himself smirking at her before he realised what he was doing, the sensuous raise of her eyebrow only serving to pull him into her bubble further. "Are you Locksley?"

"Who wants to know?" He rested his hands on top of his cane, the silver lion warm under his palm.

The woman slipped from behind the chair and crossed to him in two gliding steps, her dress flowing side to side with each sway of her hips. He couldn't help but give her a glance up and down – when he lifted his gaze her eyes were already on him, her lips tipping up into a smirk. She lifted her cigarette to her lips, the black lace glove covering her hand beautifully intricate and fitted like a second skin. She opened her mouth so the smoke curled into the air between them, distorting her smooth skin before drifting away.

"Regina,"

"What can I do for you Regina?" He dropped his voice a couple of octaves, stepped closer to her than would have been considered proper on a first meeting but she didn't seem to mind, her body instinctively arching towards his.

She tapped her cig into the ash tray on the mantelpiece without taking her eyes off him, "I want something taken care of. And I heard that you," she pulled a stray thread from his sleeve and discarded it on the floor, "take care of things."

"Oh?" Her hand lingered over his jacket, and he felt the flames of attraction burning in his chest. People had told him before and he'd denied it, but he really was a flirt. He loved to watch as his comments brought a flush of pink to cheeks, girls giggling as he walked passed and grinned at them. But this one, Regina, she would be harder to crack. And how he loved a challenge. "And what is it you want taken care of?"

They were inches from each other, so close that Robin felt himself deflate a little when she moved out of his reach to put out her cig in the ash tray on his desk. She leaned back and perched on the polished wood.

"A man actually," she crossed her legs, hands pressed to the desk on either side of her legs. "Blanchard. Leopold Blanchard."

"And what could such a man have done to deserve your wrath?" He questioned, cogs turning in his head as he tried to fit the pieces of this woman together. Her eyes glazed over briefly, brow pinching in the middle before she blinked and the playful glint returned.

"I'm not paying you to ask questions."

"You haven't paid me at all yet."

She slid off the desk, reaching into the fur lined coat resting on the chair she'd been sat on when he entered, and pulled out two slips of paper. Draping her coat over her arm, she moved back over to him where he leaned against the mantle. Robin never dropped her gaze, even as she slipped the papers into inside pocket of his jacket, her fingers grazing over his chest.

"Think about it," she said, "it's an offer you can't refuse."

And then she was gone, giving him one last glance as she pulled the door shut behind her. Her depthless eyes swallowing him whole and not letting him go even when she must have been long gone. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the papers. The first had her name on it, and a telephone number, her elegant cursive burning into his retina. The second was a cheque. For $25,000.

Robin raced downstairs and into the bar but the woman was nowhere around.

"Someone's got you all riled up," said Will, still sat on his stool at the bar.

Robin shook his head in mild disbelief then turned to his friend, "You don't perchance know a man named Leopold Blanchard?"

Will swigged the last of his drink. "Looks like it's your lucky day."


	2. Chapter 2

Leopold Blanchard, as it turned out, was a Wall Street banker. Although Robin was often inclined to swap 'banker' for another, much more alliterative, word.

"Nasty piece of work, that man," Will told him gravely, "At least you're an honest gang leader. He pretends to be above us all – makes him the bloody worst."

"How have I never heard of him?" Mused Robin, perplexed as to how such a notorious banker had slipped his radar.

Will signalled to the barman to get him a refill before saying, "He's clever, Robin. Doesn't exactly beat people up himself, does he?" Robin let out an exasperated sigh, so Will carried on. "You'll have heard of his lackey, not him. Calls himself _Mr Gold_ , the self-righteous sod."

"I know Gold," Said Robin, recalling the only run-in he'd ever had with the man. "I doubt he thinks himself anyone's lackey."

"Too right," the barman slid Will a whiskey down the bar, "they bloody both think they're running the show."

Robin scoffed at that. " _We_ run the show, Will."

He laughed, but Robin wasn't in the laughing mood. His mind still lingered with Regina's hand brushing over his chest, the red of her lips as she puffed smoke into the air. And the cheque she deposited into his pocket.

"Is this to do with that woman?" Will asked and Robin hesitated before answering. He might be his best friend, but Will Scarlett had the biggest gob in the state.

"This is big money Will," Robin leaned in conspiratorially and dropped his voice. "She left me her number but do we really want to get involved with this? Roughing some of his men up a bit, sure, but causing an outright _feud_ …"

Will was nodding, sipping his whiskey as he considered Robin's words.

"Right, what did she say, exactly?"

 _I heard that you…take care of things._

"She just asked me to take care of him." At Will's raised eyebrows he said, "I know, that was it. Maybe I should give her a bell so she can be a little less cryptic." Robin wouldn't be surprised if her seduction was all a ploy to get him to agree to do her dirty work, but then again he knew in most people's eyes that's what he was. A scapegoat. Someone to get rid of a problem and take the fall if it all went wrong.

Robin had roughed up a fair few people in his time, broken ribs and blackened eyes when they had refused to cough up what he was owed. But murder? That was entirely different. Despite the rumours, Robin had never killed anyone. Some of his men had undoubtedly – their revolvers heavy weighted with the lives they'd taken – but not Robin. There were some lines he believed once you crossed, there was no coming back from.

A loud crash came from the far side of the bar and pulled Robin from his thoughts. He turned to see what it was, rolling his eyes as John slapped his knee, howling with laughter. Several others of his men were there too, Alan sprawled on the floor covered in beer and only a hairs breadth away from rolling into the smashed glass at his side. Robin had half a mind to let him, serve him right for breaking his property.

As Robin made his way over to them, face set in a warning glower, one by one they composed themselves until only Alan was laughing like a madman on the floor, his tie loose around his neck and his white shirt stained with alcohol and whatever else was deep set into the wooden floorboards. Robin bent down and hoisted him up by the collar, the man suddenly sobering and grasping for excuses.

"You look ridiculous," Robin spat, shoving Alan back into his chair. "We have a reputation to uphold here, you cretins. Do you want people talking about The Lions like we're some band of pathetic drunks?" He threw the last part at John who refused to meet Robin's eyes. "Pull yourselves together or get the hell out."

Robin turned on his heel and strode back towards the Den, Will straggling along behind him as he made his way up the stairs to his office.

.::.

He spent half the night talking through his thoughts with Will, and when his friend left at just past one in the morning, Robin finally had a clearer plan set out in his mind.

All it took the next day was Regina's husky voice filtering through the blower for that clarity to fly right out the window.

"Hello?"

"Regina? It's Robin Locksley,"

He heard a small hum from the line. "I knew my offer was good, but I'm impressed with your speed in getting back to me, Locksley."

"Call me Robin, please."

"Robin." He felt a tug of arousal in his gut as she rolled his name off her tongue and mentally shook himself. _Get back on task._

"I wondered if we could meet. You were quite vague last night, and I don't particularly want to have this conversation over the telephone. Thin walls."

"Mhm. Where would you suggest this meeting take place?" She was most definitely flirting with him. He was willing to bet her lips were pursed in the way they were yesterday, just short of a smirk.

"Do you know Clarke's?" At her answering _yes_ he told her, "Meet me there for lunch, noon."

"You're paying." She said, and hung up the line.

.::.

Everybody knew Clarke's. It made Regina wonder why he'd pick such a public place to meet, but then she thought of the clientele: honest men and women who'd have no clue they were sharing a room with a mobster. Clever.

Although it was hard to tell Robin Locksley was a mobster at all. His beautifully tailored suit and charming smile would throw anyone off his scent. Not to mention he was English. There wasn't a lot that shocked Regina, but hearing Locksley's voice for the first time and _not_ being greeted by a thick Brooklyn accent almost made her think she'd walked into the wrong building. And then she saw the way he watched her, carefully, calculated, like he was sizing her up just as much as she was him. He was much more than a pretty package.

It wasn't unknown to have puppet leaders, Regina was well aware, but she could see from a mile off that Locksley didn't have anyone pulling his strings.

She'd arrived early to lunch, perched on a bar stool fifteen minutes before she was supposed to meet him and ordered a Gin Rickey, sipping the citrusy cocktail and waiting for the bell above the door to ring. He walked in five minutes to twelve, shedding his long coat at the door to reveal his immaculate attire. The red pocket square folded neatly into his grey suit, matching his tie, caught her eye as he strolled to the bar.

"Milady," he greeted, lifting his hat to her then placing it back on his head. "Would you care to join me at a table?" She let her gloved fingers fall into his outstretched palm as he helped her down from the stool.

"You're early," she commented.

"As are you."

Regina released his hand to grab her glass and picked her bag up with the other. Robin's quick glance up and down her body didn't escape her notice. He led them to a table in the far corner, waiting for her to push through the bodies congregated in the small room and when she reached him, he pulled out her chair, pushing it back in as she sat.

He sat down opposite her and rested his cane against the back wall. Regina never quite understood the point of carrying a cane if you could walk. Probably some kind of statement of power. He waved the waiter over and then turned to face her, his eyes bright in the dim room. There was an odd sort of tension in the air between them, like a taut piece of string.

Before she could speak, the waiter handed them both a menu and read them a list of specials. Robin ordered her another Gin Rickey and a Southside for himself. When the waiter had gone, she suddenly felt very alone with a very dangerous man. She didn't let her mask slip an inch.

Flipping open her purse, she pulled out her cigarette holder, slipped a cig in the end and lit the tip, taking a long drag before blowing the smoke up and away. She offered him the packet.

"I don't smoke."

"Really?" she questioned, breathing in the smoke with practiced grace. "You're the only one this side of the Hudson."

He grinned at her. "I'd hate to be predictable."

She bit back her smirk, watching the way he perused the menu and snapping her eyes back down when he looked up.

"So tell me," he said, eyes back on the cream paper, "what do you want me to do?"

Straight to the point then. Her eyes skimmed over the menu but she wasn't reading a word of it, her brain short-circuiting at even the inference of Leo. The sooner this was done with, the better.

"Isn't that the question," she flirted, quirking an eyebrow and resting her chin on her knuckles. This – this act – she knew how to do well. But Robin wasn't grinning anymore. His eyes had narrowed, brow pinched, like he was working her out, scanning her for flaws. She sighed, taking another drag of her cig. "You don't need to know the ins and outs of my…relationship with Leo. He's a bad man, and he deserves to die."

.::.

"He's a bad man," she said, punctuating her sentence with a shrug of her shoulders, "and he deserves to die."

Robin hadn't wanted anything sugar coated, but to hear her so boldly come out with it… He was impressed.

"Well I think your payment covers you for being vague." The waiter arrived back with their drinks and so Robin ordered his food, Regina saying she'd have the same. He had the distinct feeling she hadn't read the menu at all.

"So you'll do it?" She asked when the waiter had gone off to the kitchen. She had an almost desperate look in her eyes, a frantic glint that based on his first impression, he wouldn't have expected her to be capable of.

He shouldn't get involved.

"Yes."

But he would.

Regina dropped her voice low as she leaned further across the table towards him. "Leopold works on Wall Street, his company scams hundreds of people out of their money using an insurance ploy."

"So he scammed you?"

"You could say that." She let out a humourless laugh. "He's my husband."

Robin slammed the glass he'd just picked up back down onto the table. "Gold digger, then." He said, slumping back in his chair, arms folded across his chest.

"No." She shook her head, looking almost…offended at his accusation. "My mother sold me to the highest bidder. I'm her greatest investment." The way she said it made Robin think she was repeating someone else's words.

"I'm sorry," he said without thinking, regaining his senses enough to not reach for her hand. The smoke from her cigarette curled up and around her face.

"I don't want your pity. I want your services."

He nodded. "You shall have them." Robin knew what it was like to grow up feeling nothing more than a bank-note. His father made sure he knew exactly what he was worth: nothing. But to be treated as a human business venture, for financial gain…he felt for her. "Although surely your mother is the one at fault here?"

"Oh, so you don't think an old man asking an eighteen year old for her hand in marriage is at fault?" Her voice snipped at him, her composure slipping as she snubbed out her cig in the ash tray forcefully. "And anyway," she continued, brushing over the subject quickly before he could interrupt her, "my mother is another story altogether. Maybe she deserves to die. Maybe death is too good for her."

As she spoke, a glazed look entered her eyes and Robin realised as she blinked several times, it was tears. A sudden and passionate rage filled his chest and he was desperate to do whatever he could to assist this woman. It occurred to him that she could just be a money grabbing fraudster waiting for her wealthy husband to bite it so she could inherit the money. But then she looked at him with her coffee brown eyes and he couldn't help but believe every word she said.

"Besides," she said, finally having composed herself enough to speak, "look at the cheque I gave you yesterday. Do I look like I need the money?"

 _And yet who's paying for lunch?_ thought Robin, but he couldn't help be taken back by her boldness.

He was pretty flush himself, in recent years at least. Since he took up the habit of forcing people's hand. He didn't take from good people, though, made sure that those he stole and took from were nothing if not deserving of all that came to them. To some people, that would make him a good man. Robin knew better. He wasn't a good man; he was the lesser of several evils.

Robin bit his lip. "Okay, say we do this. Say _I_ do this." He was talking through his currently forming plan as much as talking to Regina. "We have a dead Wall Street banker, his young widower and one huge mess on our hands. Not to mention that snivelling weasel Gold to contend with."

"Don't worry about Gold, I'll deal with him."

"You?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, scoffing, "Yes, me."

Doubtful, but then again this woman was already full of surprises.

Before he could reply, the food arrived – two Waldorf salads with a few slices of the baked ham special to share between them. Regina dug in, spearing a few leaves with a bit of apple and hummed softly as she chewed.

"Interesting choice," she said when she'd finished her mouthful. At his confused expression she added, "Salad doesn't exactly scream _Lions_ does it?"

He fought the tension in his body at her naming his gang in such a crowded place, but he forced a smirk, "As I said before, I'd hate to be predicable."

"Usually I wouldn't order salad either. It always seems overpriced for a few leaves and garnish."

He lifted his eyebrows at her as she gathered up another forkful, "Well, you seem to be enjoying it. And as you've already so modestly pointed out, you're not short of cash."

"Doesn't mean I don't spend it wisely," she fired back.

Robin just stared at her for a moment, not quite believing this woman was real at all. There were so many questions he wanted to ask her, but he wouldn't, not yet. This job would be complicated enough without getting tangled up in Regina's life. Admittedly, killing her husband probably counted as 'tangling' but he'd need to stay focussed so they didn't all end up in the shit.

When they'd finished off their food and Robin had obediently paid the bill, he stood from the table and held his hand out to her. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."


	3. Chapter 3

Less than twenty four hours after Regina had first set foot into The Sherwood, she was back, forcing her way through the unsavoury crowd once more. Robin kept her close, pulling her quickly through the throng of handsy drunks gathered around the pool table, and as much as she hated to admit it, she was glad. Seemingly when you walked with Locksley, you were untouchable. Or at least that's what he wanted her to think.

"Who is this Will Scarlett?" She asked him, keeping her voice low to prevent any unwanted attention.

"My right hand man," he replied, a smirk tilting his lips. "He's over there."

Regina looked to the bar where Locksley nodded, spotting a dark haired man nursing a glass of amber liquid. His white shirt had discoloured from wear, but he was at ease in his surroundings - the navy trouser braces made up for his rough-around-the-edges look. Robin approached him, deliberately leaving Regina a seat in the middle of them both. She perched on the central bar stool begrudgingly, refusing to feel penned in, lifting a hand to the barman to order a drink.

"So you're the one who's got Robin in a tizzy then," he commented, sipping from his glass and looking across at her.

Robin ignored the jibe. "Regina, this is Will Scarlett," he gestured between them. "Will, Regina."

"I've heard a lot about you," he said, extending his arm to her.

She shook his hand, "I can't say the same about you, Mr Scarlett."

Will's smile faltered and Robin practically beamed beside her. "Yes, well, you can always count on our Robin to keep his mouth shut about the important things." Then he added as an afterthought, "It's just Will, by the way." His accent intrigued her. It wasn't like Robin's; it wasn't really like any accent she'd heard before.

"Where are you from, Will?" She asked, absently rummaging in her purse for a light. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of matches. She placed the holder between her lips and leaned forwards to where Will had struck the box, a flame blaring to life and igniting her cig.

She took a drag. "You don't talk like your friend," she said, jerking her head to Robin.

"Nottingham,"

"What's it like?" She felt Robin shift on the stool beside her, and his discomfort gave her an odd thrill. She leaned in on her elbows, further towards Will.

"Small." Robin was tapping his fingers on the bar top. "Nothin' ever bloody happens. Just imagine the opposite of here," he finished, swigging the rest of his drink as she blew out a plume of smoke.

"Sounds delightful," she drawled, only half kidding. Small And Uneventful was probably exactly what she needed.

The barman was walking towards her but before she could order, Robin had hopped off his stool and grasped his cane. "Come on," he gestured with his hand for both of them to follow suit, "we haven't got all day."

Will slid off his chair and threw a few bills onto the bar which the barman swept up. She turned to Robin, his jaw firmly set and his eyes decidedly avoiding hers. _Men_. So quickly they believed things were theirs. Regina wasn't a thing. And she certainly didn't belong to anyone. When he still refused to meet her gaze, Regina scoffed, following Will through the door to the back of the building.

She could hear Robin's footfalls on the stairs behind her, but apart from that he was quiet – they all were – as they made their way to Robin's office. The place felt different today. Like an actual office, bustling with men and women holding papers, running between rooms and stopping to talk to each other in the hallways. Regina glanced down all the corridors they passed on their way to the top floor, intrigued and trying to gather as much information as she could.

None of them spoke until they were settled in Robin's office, the door clicking shut behind them.

.::.

Robin sat down behind his desk to face Will and Regina. There was only one single, constant, thought in his head: _this is madness_. What would his mother think of him? He knew father would be disappointed. Not because he was plotting to kill a man, no, he'd be disappointed because Robin was having doubts.

"So what's the plan, hotshot?" He looked up, her eyes catching his for the first time since they arrived and he already knew that swooping feeling in his stomach was going to be a problem.

He cleared his throat. "We were talking about it last night. Will wants to look into Blanchard's schedule, follow his movements for a few days, see if there's any chance of him being alone in the not so distant future."

Regina shook her head. "He's never alone. One of his minions is around even when he sleeps. It's a superiority complex if you ask me; he's a banker not the King of England."

"So he knows he has enemies then," mused Robin.

"My husband has a target on all of those enemies' backs, believe me."

"Hang on a bloody minute," Will interrupted, "who's your husband?"

"Blanchard is, keep up Will."

"Do we have targets on our backs then, an' all?"

Regina sighed then turned her attention to Will. "No. He doesn't know who you are. Gold, on the other hand…"

"Well where the bloody hell are you staying if your husband's about to bite it?"

"I'm staying with him," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

" _What?!_ "

Robin and Will exchanged glances as they exclaimed in unison. How could she still be staying with that monster?

"I'm beginning to regret hiring you and your men, Locksley, if they're all as stupid as you two." Her Brooklyn twang came out when she was irritated – in another situation, it probably would have made him smirk. She carried on talking before either of them could protest. "I'm staying with him because I don't want to raise any suspicion. Luckily, he's hardly ever home so he doesn't notice me leaving all the time."

"So you're planning his murder under his own bloody roof,"

"No," snapped Regina, " _We're_ planning his murder under _your_ roof." She pointed at the ceiling for emphasis.

"Well that's charming. Glad to know you'll share the blame."

"No blame will be shared because we're not getting caught. And anyway, why are you sympathising with him?"

"Look," Robin said, breaking up the brewing argument before it could manifest into a shouting match. "We need to work out a plan that doesn't involve you two bickering. I don't know about you, but I really don't fancy this job going wrong and having an extremely powerful man and his lap dog on our case."

Regina threw daggers at Will but kept her mouth shut. Instead, she turned to Robin.

"I can tell you exactly where he'll be at every moment of the day for the next two weeks. His secretary is even dumber than you," she sent that one in Will's direction, Robin's lips twitching into the briefest smirk. "She'll hand over his schedule no problem."

"Okay, good. Progress is what I like to see."

Will slumped back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. Robin rolled his eyes; dealing with Will was often like talking to a small child. If he suspected he wasn't getting his way, he was done with the conversation.

"Will, stop being a child and take some notes," Robin reached into his drawer and took out a pen and some paper, sliding them across the desk towards Will. He took them, reluctantly, and began to scribble across the page.

"What's this secretary called?" he asked, pausing his writing for the answer.

"Snow," Regina answered. "She's his daughter. _Not_ mine," she added when he and Will both snapped their necks round to her.

Robin tapped his fingers on the desk, watching Will's pen move over the page as the pieces of his plan took shape in his mind. When he moved his gaze to Regina, she was already watching him, waiting for his eyes to find hers. The world seemed to fall away in that second, his mind blanking on every thought he'd just had. And then the world was back again as quickly as it'd disappeared when she stood from her chair.

"Where are you going?" He sounded too desperate for his own liking, too much like he cared.

She slipped her arms into her coat and pulled it up around her shoulders. The fur brushed the edges of her jaw and he wondered whether it bothered her.

"Home," she said, "Leo will be back in an hour and I need to get that schedule when he's not around. I'll bring it to you tonight. He's at a party upstate, one of his work colleagues, but he's not taking me." The way she said 'party', like it tasted sour on her tongue, made Robin think it wasn't exactly champagne and canapé's.

"Alright," Robin stood and rounded his desk, moving to open the door for her. "Call me if anything changes," he instinctively put his hand on the small of her back as she walked past him, guiding her out of the room. Her eyes flicked to his; she licked her lip.

Will cleared his throat from behind them, loudly. Robin dropped his hand.

"Until tonight," he said.

"Until tonight."

.::.

As Regina stepped off the subway, climbing the steps from the platform to the street, she felt lighter than she had in years. Locksley – _Robin_ – would do this. He would help her, and the look in his eyes told her he'd succeed. It wasn't until she rounded the corner onto her road that her stomach plummeted in one huge swoop. Leo's car was parked outside, the shining blue paint reflecting the late afternoon sun. He'd want to know exactly where she'd been, who she was with, and she had approximately two minutes to think up an answer.

 _Belle_ , she thought, _I'll say I was eating lunch with Belle. We decided to go shopping._

Regina opened the door and closed it as quietly as she could, wondering if Leo had been picked up by someone else for the party already. (Wishful thinking). Her heart was thumping in her chest; she wished she wasn't so afraid.

"Regina." She tried not to visibly flinch at the roughness in Leo's voice as she hung up her coat, giving herself a second to compose before she turned to face him. Yet another mask she needed to wear.

She faced him, smiling; the obedient wife.

"How was your day, honey?" she asked, sickeningly false, leaning in to kiss his cheek. Of all the parts she played, this one was by far the worst.

"Good. Fine." She tried to step around him out of the hall, but he gripped her arm, so tight her olive skin went white beneath his fingers. "Where have you been?"

This was their game. Regina tiptoeing and pretending what was happening wasn't, and Leo not giving a damn either way.

"I ate lunch with Belle." The perfect lie. "We went shopping." Almost.

"What did you get?" he pushed, looking deliberately around for her bags. Which of course she didn't have.

"Oh, um, they didn't have my size in what I wanted. They said they'd get it taken in."

Leo dragged his eyes over her, all the way up her body. When Robin had done that earlier today she'd felt...special. Like a person. Now, she just felt dirty. Like his eyes could stain her just as easily as his hands. He seemed to consider her for a minute, then nodded. He believed her.

"I'm going out tonight." He told her, hand finally slipping from her arm, "Don't wait up."

She smiled at him, forcing her eyes to stop stinging as she watched him walk back into the living room.

She hated herself. She hated that he could do this to her, turn her into such a pathetic, cowering version of herself. She wiped the tears off her cheeks as she crept up the stairs – even though he knew she was home, she didn't want to draw any more attention to her presence than needed.

"Regina?"

She'd been stuck in her head again, eyes fixed on the red carpet leading to her room – not the one she spent her nights in, that was Leo's room. She always kept the distinction clear in her mind – so when Snow's soft voice came from the landing, Regina couldn't help but jump. _God_ , one little interaction with Leo and she was a wreck. The sooner this was over, the better.

Regina didn't say anything back, which always worried Snow.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, wide eyes assessing her carefully. "Is it my father?"

Regina just looked at her step-daughter; they both knew the answer to her question.

 _Snow had arrived home earlier than expected. She'd walked through the hall, hung up her coat, and was beginning to take off her gloves when she heard it. She'd stopped dead at the sound of her fathers raised voice, Regina's sobs. She'd peered through the crack in the kitchen door and seen everything._

 _Regina, back flat against the wall, desperately trying to fall through it to escape the man before her –_ her father _\- his face red with anger, eyes bulging as he called her all the names under the sun. And then Snow had watched as her father hit Regina. A hard slap to her cheek which rang through the house. It was Snow's gasp that broke the silence that followed, Leopold rushing to the door and swinging it open to reveal her crumpled, tear stained face._

 _He'd tried to explain, reaching for her hand, but Snow had backed away, nearly stumbling over her own feet in her need to get away from him. She ran up the stairs and bolted her door shut, sitting on the floor with her back to the wall and her hands covering her ears to block out her father's shouts. And Regina's tears._

Snow hadn't brought that night up once in the six months since it'd happened (not directly at least) but Regina hadn't expected her to. That was how it worked in this house. Bad things could happen because no one stopped them. Suddenly that thought made Regina angry, a fire building in her chest because of how awful their lives were.

She suspected Snow didn't like her father. Not since...that. However not liking someone and wanting them dead were two very different things. It was possible Snow would help her, but it was also possible she wouldn't. Especially if she knew what Regina had planned. She'd have to go about getting information carefully.

"Could you get me a copy of Leo's schedule for the next two weeks?" she asked, pulling her gloves off by the fingers and holding the lace in her hand.

"Of course," Snow wasn't in the habit of saying no to Regina. "When do you need it?"

Regina met her step-daughters eyes. "Now."

.::.

At 6:22pm, Leo stomped up the stairs and strode across the landing to his room. And at 6:27pm, when he stomped back down the stairs, then out of the front door, closing it with a firm thud, Regina's shoulders finally relaxed. It wasn't until his car engine started up and she heard him drive away that she let out a sharp exhale, crossing her room to step onto the landing.

She looked out of the blinds to make sure his car had gone, then descended the stairs to the kitchen. Her hands were shaking, so she flipped open her purse and pulled out a cigarette and a light. The first drag was intoxicating, calming her erratic nerves. Snow slid in, closing the door quietly behind her. That was another thing Regina hated: even when Leopold wasn't around, they acted like he was. Like at any second he'd pop round the corner and lash out because one of them had spoken too loudly or slammed a door.

"I got it," she said, waving a couple of papers in the air before handing them to Regina.

She took them and glanced over the appointments, not really reading any of the words.

"Thank you," she told her, folding the papers and placing them inside her purse. "I'm going out for a while. I'll be back before eleven."

Snow nodded. She wasn't in the habit of asking questions, either.

When she'd pulled her coat on, Regina was torn between getting the subway – _again_ – and calling Robin to pick her up. It wasn't that far. Too far to walk, but not too far for her request to be unreasonable. She lifted the phone in the living room and dialled.

He picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"It's me."

"We have to stop speaking like this," he drawled and she could see that stupid grin on his face.

"Pick me up." She said. Not a request. A demand. Why was it so easy to speak like this to a gang leader but not to her own husband?

"As milady wishes," he replied, "where from?"

She told him outside the subway station. The last thing she needed was some gossipy neighbour telling Leo she'd been driving off with charming, well-dressed men in the dark.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Great."

He hung up.

Regina sat with the receiver still at her ear, the stand sitting in her lap, for a few minutes. Then she put both parts back on the table and reached for the lipstick in her purse. She reapplied the deep red before picking her key up from the side to lock the door behind her. A cool breeze whipped around her legs as she strode to the station, a smile curving her lips when she saw Robin jump out of his car parked on the side walk to open the door for her.


End file.
